Harrietty Potter: Book the First
by BloodAsh22
Summary: New Twist on the FemHarry genre! Harrietty is an unusual girl. She grew up with a happy family family but now she has reached age 11. Join her as she goes through her first year at Hogwarts. I suck at summaries Alternate Universe, Intelligent!Gray!Female!Harry, Nice!Petunia, Mentor!Snape


**Pairing/s**- Petunia/MaleOC... That's all I got for now

**Warnings-** Alternate Universe, Intelligent!Gray!Female!Harry,** Nice!Petunia,** Severitus, and Alternate Universe. This is slightly off canon.

**Disclaimer-**I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters.

**Author's Note**- It is a lot like the first chapter of philosopher's stone sorry

**Chapter One-** _The Girl Who Truly lived_

Mr. and Mrs. Cassidy of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal. Mr. Cassidy was the lead accountant at a firm called Grunnings which made drills. He was tall and thin with short chestnut hair and ore horn-rimmed glasses. Mrs. Cassidy was skinny, with a long neck that made her look like a swan (at least to her husband), her blonde hair was strait and long reaching her waist through she away had it up in a bun.

The Cassidy's had a small son called Sebastian and in their opinion, there's no finer boy anywhere.

When Mr. Cassidy woke up on the dull, gray Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country.

Mrs. Cassidy was still asleep she had catered a large Halloween party the night before so Mr. Cassidy agreed to take their three year old son to work.

At half past seven, Mr. Cassidy picked up his briefcase, pecked a still sleeping Mrs. Cassidy on the cheek. Sebastian sat that the kitchen table eating a small bowl of cereal, his chestnut all over the place.

"Bastian, did you even brush your hair," Mr. Cassidy said watching the boy place his bowl and spoon in the sink.

"Uhh- I don't member," Sebastian said scratching his head. Mr. Cassidy chucked as he took the boy's hand and left the house. He placed Sebastian in his car seat before he got into his car and backed out of number four's drive.

It was on the corner of the street; Sebastian began to giggle pointing to a cat reading a map. For a second, Mr. Cassidy didn't realize what he had seen — then he jerked his head around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight.

"Map go proof," Sebastian said pointing to the map. As Mr. Cassidy drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive. Mr. Cassidy gave himself a little shake and put the cat out of his mind. As he drove toward town, on the edge of town, the cat was driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks.

"Daddy look! They didn't take of their costumes," Sebastian said also looking at the group. Mr. Cassidy nodded guessing it was some sort of after Halloween party. He caught a few words of what they were saying out of his open window.

"The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard —"

" — yes, their daughter, Harri —"

He froze and the thoughts of his sister-in-law came to his head. Mrs. Cassidy had a younger sister whose surname was Potter. But the two they hadn't met for several years aside from the lovely postcards the sent each year on holidays. He knew the Potters had a small daughter whom that called Harrietty.

Mr. Cassidy arrived in the Grunnings parking lot, his mind back on numbers. Mr. Cassidy always sat with his back to the window in his office on the twelfth floor. Sebastian sat quietly draw pictures of the owls swooping past in broad daylight.

Time flew by quick it was lunchtime when his wife walked in with two bags.

"Mummy," Sebastian yelled leaping into his mother's arms.

"Petunia, dear what are you doing her," Mr. Cassidy asked pecking her on the lips.

"To bring you both lunch," Petunia said handing them both bags. "The baby's been kicking up a storm all morning, Edmund."

Petunia Cassidy was currently 5 months pregnant with their second child Primrose Cassidy. Which was another reason Mr. Cassidy didn't want Petunia stressing out. With those people in cloaks walking around talking about the Potter he was she it would stress her out. But they had lunch, talked about middle names for the baby, and Petunia and Sebastian left after his lunch hour.

Again the hours pasted quickly that afternoon and when he left the building at five o'clock. He noticed one of his co-workers Vernon Dursley knock one of the cloak wearers down. Mr. Cassidy quickly walked over and helped he tiny old man off the ground.

"Are you okay," asked Edmund.

He didn't seem at all upset at being knocked to the ground. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile and he said in a squeaky voice that made passersby stare, "Of course, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!"

And the old man hugged Mr. Cassidy around the middle and walked off. Mr. Cassidy chuckle and shrugged off being called a Muggle, whatever that was. He hurried to his car and set off for home.

As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw was the tabby cat he'd spotted that morning. Next to her was a small paper plate with what looked like a half-eaten salmon on it.

"I suppose Sebastian and Tunia didn't want you to go hungry. Are you done," Edmund said taken the plate and he swore he saw the cat nodding.

The rest of the night was normal, the family watched the news together, had dinner together, gave Sebastian a bath, and went to bed.

But on that Petunia laid restlessly next to her husband. Dreams of her dreaded sister her sister always was her parent's favorite popped in and out of her head. Petunia blamed it on pregnancy hormones.

"Tunia, dear are you alright," Edmond mumbled pulling Petunia closer to him.

"Of course as long as I am in your arms," Petunia whisper as sleep finally claimed her

But outside of a man appeared on the corner of Privet Drive, nothing like this man had ever been seen in Privet Drive. He was tall, thin and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak which swept the ground, high heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.

He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did realize that he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at a tabby cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known."

He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled. "How did you know it was me?" she asked.

"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall.

"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.

"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no — even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news."

She jerked her head back at the Cassidys' dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls… shooting stars… Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent — I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."

"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors."

She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so she went on. "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?"

"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"

"A what?"

"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of."

"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for lemon drops. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone —"

"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense — for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: Voldemort."

Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name."

"I know you haven't," said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know- oh, all right, Voldemort, was frightened of."

"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."

"Only because you're too — well —noble to use them."

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "The owls are nothing next to the rumors that are flying around. You know what they're saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"

It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reach the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold, hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever "everyone" was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another lemon drop and did not answer.

"What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are — are — that they're — dead."

Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.

"Lily and James… I can't believe it… I didn't want to believe it… Oh, Albus…"

Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "I know… I know…" he said heavily.

Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potter's daughter, Harrietty. But he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little girl. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Harrietty Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke — and that's why he's gone."

Dumbledore nodded glumly.

"It's — it's true?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all he's done… all the people he's killed… he couldn't kill a little girl? It's just astounding… of all the things to stop him… but how in the name of heaven did Harri survive?"

"We can only guess." said Dumbledore. "We may never know."

Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?"

"I've come to bring Harri to her aunt and uncle. They're the only family she has left now."

McGonagall's jaw dropped, "That woman is Petunia Evans."

"Yes," Dumbledore smiled.

"But that is not the Petunia Evans I remember. She was so kind he even brought me a piece of salmon," cried Professor McGonagall looking at the house. "To think that mean hearted girl that called she sister a freak grew into a kind woman."

"Oh, I can't say I've seen her since Lily's third year."

"I've been watching them all day. They've got this son he looked about two or three, so sweet I think he tried to have a staring contest with me. Lovey Boy he even helped his mother with the garden."

"I glad this is the best place for her," Dumbledore nodded. Her aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to her when she's older."

"So how is the girl getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding Harri underneath it.

"Hagrid's bringing her."

"You think it —wise — to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"

"I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.

"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to — what was that?"

A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky — and a huge motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.

If the motorcycle was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild — long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands the size of trash can lids, and his feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms he was holding a bundle of blankets.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got her, sir."

"No problems, were there?"

"No, sir — house was almost destroyed, but I got her out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. She fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby girl, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair over her forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.

"Is that where —?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "She'll have that scar forever."

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"

"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well — give her here, Hagrid — we'd better get this over with."

Dumbledore took Harrietty in his arms and turned toward the Cassidys' house.

"Could I — could I say good-bye to her sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head over Harri and gave her what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.

"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall, "You'll wake the Muggles!"

"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it —Lily an' James dead — an' poor little Harri off ter live with Muggles —"

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid Harrietty gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harrietty's blankets, and then came back to the other two.

For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.

"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I best get this bike away. G'night, Professor McGonagall — Professor Dumbledore, sir."

Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four.

"Good luck, Harri," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harrietty Potter rolled over inside her blankets without waking up.

One small hand closed on the letter beside her and she slept on, not knowing she was special, not knowing she was famous, not knowing she would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs. Cassidy's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles.

She couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Harrietty Potter — the girl who lived!"

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